


A Knock On The Door

by yes_but_am_i_a_pretty_lady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crush, Fluff, Gen, Kidlock, M/M, idk - Freeform, uhhh, wow i have no idea what to tag this as sorry guys, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yes_but_am_i_a_pretty_lady/pseuds/yes_but_am_i_a_pretty_lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A knock on the door. Simple as that. However, this knock on the door was very special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Variables

**Author's Note:**

> I'm totally going to change that title later.
> 
> Okay so! I have NO idea where I'm going with this. The first chapter could be it, or I could continue, or whatever you guys want. It's very freelance. Suggestions always wanted/needed.
> 
> Also I tried to be funny?? I'm not sure whether it worked.
> 
> I got a lot of ideas (and a line or two) off of The Shop Boy, here- http://archiveofourown.org/works/1330114?view_full_work=true
> 
> Based off of this post >> http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/post/103212092587/capaow-can-i-have-a-fic-where-john-is-like-a
> 
> Fic recs/ comments/ requests for headcanons/ questions/ suggestions = comment below or shoot me a message at http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/!

It was a lazy thursday afternoon in the Holmes household. Mummy and Daddy were at work, Mycroft was… somewhere, doing something, probably being fat and stuck up like always. And Sherlock was reading his brother’s old 10th year biology textbook. Interesting stuff, about spines and vertebrae. It would be fascinating to get his hands on a real spine, but of course that would require some assistance from Mummy, and she would not be willing to get Sherlock human remains of any kind. She never was, _‘always making experiments SO difficult,’_ Sherlock thought. He continued reading. The next bit was about cartilage. Ears, and noses, and-

Sherlock was startled out of his reading by a knock on the door. _'Who could that possibly be? Not Mummy's, nor Daddy's. They're at work, they'd have guests there. And Mycroft doesn't have FRIENDS.'_ Sherlock peered out his front-facing window down to the front door. He couldn't quite make out who it was- _‘idiotic angle. I’ll have to fix that,’_ \- so he scrambled downstairs and hid behind a plant in the main hall. He waited and watched as Mycroft went past to answer the door.

"John, please come in. I understand you wanted help with Algebra?" Mycroft said in that terribly stuck up voice of his.

"Hi, Mycroft. Yeah, if you don't mind,” the visitor said. Sherlock could barely make out his eyebrows reaching the top of his forehead over the top of the leaves. “Wow. Nice place you've got.”

_'John, I suppose.'_ He had sandy blonde hair and could've been on the rugby team. Probably a Year 10, definitely not Mycroft’s age if he was still working on _Algebra_. Sherlock watched as the older boys went into the library. John was looking around with wide eyes as he followed Sherlock’s bloated brother into the library. Sherlock creeped after them, hiding outside the door to hear them.

"Let's start with the basics. Algebra is all about solving for variables. We use letters for variables, 'x' and 'y' being the most common, though some mean specific things. For example,'w' is used for width and 'l' for length in area and perimeter equations..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _'Oh, please. I learned this ages ago. He can't be that moronic, can he?'_ Though he was only in Year 5, Sherlock was rather smart, and of course, as a result, very arrogant. He stepped confidently into the light of the library, crossing his arms and holding his nose up haughtily.

"Sherlock, not now. I'm tutoring."

"I heard," said Sherlock. He looked at John, the student being tutored. His eyes widened and a blush spread across his face as he looked at the short, blond hair; the long eyelashes; the abnormally blue eyes. It was all so-

"Hi, I'm John. Nice to meet you."

_'Oh. He's talking to me. Oh. **Oh.** '_

__

Sherlock blinked rapidly. "Ahm, Sherlock. Nice to meet you too," he said quietly, almost shy. "I'll- I'll go, then. 'Bye, John."

John smiled at Sherlock, who suddenly felt very small and insignificant next to this mature, handsome rugby player who didn't know how to solve proportions. "Alright. See you."

Sherlock backed out of the library. He sprinted up to his room and paced around his rug, not sure what he was feeling. He was blushing quite profusely and embarrassed beyond belief. He bit his lip, frustrated. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. “Should’ve made more of an impression, Mycroft would’ve hated it, stupid, stupid, stupid!” He sat down on his bed and glared at the textbook still sitting there. The nose diagram didn’t know what it did to deserve this look, but it took the icy gaze without a question.

Back in the library, John was staring after the strange little boy. He smiled. "Cute one, isn't he?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes."Sure, if cute is suddenly synonymous with satanic. Let’s do some practice problems."

****  
  



	2. Multi-Step Equations

“John, please come in. More Algebra?”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

As the two boys walked towards the library, John couldn't help but still admire the paintings on the walls the whole way down. He felt pretty small in the Holmes’ grand house.

 

When Mycroft and John entered the library, they came across a rare scene. Sherlock was dressed in pirate gear- eyepatch, torn trousers, haphazard socks, and a blue vest. He was wielding a wooden sword. A ginger dog was laying near the fire with a pirate hat on his head. He looked up at Sherlock and wagged his tail, thumping it against the floor and panting. “I have come to battle, Captain Redbeard!” He poked the dog with his sword. The dog wagged his tail enthusiastically. “Hmph. This isn’t any fun if you don’t at least TRY to be dead, Redbeard.” The dog panted sympathetically and closed his eyes. Sherlock smiled. “Aha! I have finally bested you, Pirate King! And now I am the lord of the seas!” He raised his arms triumphantly and Redbeard barked.

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the scene. “I would hate to see you as lord of anything. I believe the results would be disastrous.”

 

Sherlock whipped around angrily. “Go away, Mycroft! You-” Sherlock stopped dead when he saw John. His face turned a deep shade of pink. _‘This is bad. Very, very bad.’_ He gulped. “-You should, ahm, get to studying.” Sherlock hurriedly tore the eyepatch off himself and took the hat off Redbeard, stowing them both on a nearby shelf. “I- I’m going to go now. ‘Bye. C’mon, Redbeard.” He held his head high as he walked past Mycroft, but as he passed John, he tucked his head down. “‘Bye,” Sherlock shyly whispered. He ran all the way up to his room, slammed the door and leaned against it. He slid down to the floor. He clutched at his chest, where his heart was beating wildly. He looked at Redbeard, sitting beside him, and gave him a hug. “Redbeard, what did I do? Oh, he probably thinks I’m so childish. How idiotic of me,” Sherlock said, whinging into his fur.

 

As soon as Sherlock was out of earshot, John turned amusedly to Mycroft. “Pirates?”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Shall we work on multi-step equations?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay it is finally up! thanks to devisama/cakeofficial mycroft for betaing, here and here>> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devisama and http://cakeofficialmycroft.tumblr.com/
> 
> thanks for all the positivity goin' on, That_One_Weird_Chick, Devisama, guests- thank you!!
> 
> (and oh god myc im sorry i didnt listen to all your advice i like entering with dialogue and then explaining but thats just my style you're perfectly fine im sorry aggghhh)


	3. Like Terms

The next Thursday, Mycroft was out in the gardens, and Sherlock had to get the door. He opened the door confidently, expression of cold indifference ready, only to be met with a casual John Watson. Sherlock’s eyes widened and his face turned pink. “Ah, hello, John.” Sherlock cursed himself for sounding so weak. Luckily, in the face of the intimidatingly handsome rugby player, he had not forgotten his manners.“Mycroft’s out, I’ll go get him. Do you- d’you want to come in?”

 

John smiled. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He followed Sherlock into the house, never getting enough of the art adorning the walls. He asked in wonder, “where did you get all these?”

 

Sherlock stopped scuttling towards the library and froze. _‘A conversation. With John Watson. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you will NOT blow this.’_ He gulped and stepped tentatively towards the painting in question. “Well, that’s actually a reproduction of ‘Wanderer above the Sea of Fog’. An oil painting painted in 1818 by Caspar David Friedrich,” Sherlock listed, looking at the painting with interest. “He did multiple other paintings, ‘The Sea of Ice’ and ‘The Abbey in the Oakwood’ being a few examples. German Romantic landscape painter-” He stopped mid sentence, suddenly taking in John's shocked expression. “Oh, John, I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, his cheeks flushing a pure red. “I just, it’s a painter who did multiple works that are famous, and I really do like this painting, but if you don’t like it or find me boring- I’ll just take you to the library now. Oh god, I’m sorry-”

 

“Sherlock.” John raised an eyebrow and was grinning from ear to ear. “That was incredible.”

 

Sherlock paused. “Really?”

 

John scoffed, flabbergasted that Sherlock didn’t realize. “Of course! It was brilliant. Positively amazing.” He chuckled. “I couldn’t do that in a million years.”

 

Sherlock shuffled his feet. “That’s not what they normally say.”

 

“What do they say?”

 

“Piss off,” Sherlock smiled. John laughed.

 

Just then, Mycroft came down the hall. “John, I’m so sorry to make you wait." He sneered. "Especially with Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock curled his lip. “And how was your run, brother mine?”

 

Mycroft stiffened. “Fine.” He turned from Sherlock, giving him a distasteful look over his shoulder. “Come, John. To the library.”

 

Sherlock waved. “‘Bye, John!” He sashayed away, Mycroft glaring after him. When he was out of sight, Sherlock sprinted to his room, slamming the door behind him and giddily dancing around. Redbeard barked. “John thinks I’m brilliant,” Sherlock giggled. He fell to his knees and started scratching the hound all over. “He thinks I’m amazing. Incredible, he said. He said that!” Sherlock buried his head in Redbeard’s fur and gave a happy little sigh. “Today was definitely a good day.”

 

Meanwhile, Mycroft and John were poring over like terms. John stopped and grinned. “Cute kid, isn’t he?”

  
Mycroft snorted. “No. Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to devisama/cakeofficialmycroft for the beta! here and here>>http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devisama and http://cakeofficialmycroft.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic recs/ comments/ requests for headcanons/ questions/ suggestions = comment below or shoot me a message at http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/!


	4. Conversions

Mycroft and John were sat in the library. Suddenly, Mycroft paused his monologue about conversions (which John found to be rather boring) and peered at John for a moment or two.

John blinked a few times, and furrowed his brow. “What is it, Mycroft?”

“You seem to get along with Sherlock. It’s rather... surprising, actually,” Mycroft replied, he broke his eye contact with John and was staring down at the Algebra textbook in between them. He seemed surprised that anyone- especially John- would be able to handle Sherlock.

“Yeah, well he’s a nice kid.” John fiddled with his pencil, tapping it against his notebook. _‘Thank god Mycroft’s distracted. I don’t think I can stand another minute of his speech,’_ John thought, sighing and looking down at the numerous corrections that dotted his paper like flies on honey. He bit his lip. _‘How am I supposed to pass my exams with these marks?’_

Mycroft was staring at John with narrowed eyes, reading his expression. Suddenly, it seemed as though he had decided on something. “How would you like a job?”

John was snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Mycroft. “Hm? Oh, uh. Well. I don’t know, what’s the job?”

Mycroft tilted his chin up. “Babysitting Sherlock.”

Brief surprise, then contemplation quickly crossed John’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure, I’ll do it. Uh when?”

“Tomorrow, if possible,” Mycroft sniffed. He seemed exasperated that he had to go to anyone for help- and John at that! Younger, less smart, less wealthy; all horrible things, or at least in Mycroft’s opinion. “The nanny demanded a day off, my parents will be going out to dinner, and I am unfortunately very busy.” He smiled in a way that made John think that his being busy was not an accident. “You’ll have to watch him for the whole day,” Mycroft continued. “We’ll pay you 6 pounds an hour, from ten o’clock in the morning until eight o’clock in the evening.” Mycroft cringed, then said, "I can even put in some extra tutoring time for you, and possibly ask your teacher for an extra credit project." He put out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

John’s mouth gaped. “Six pounds an hour for ten hours?” He snorted. “Do we have a deal,” he muttered to himself. “Hell yes, we have a deal. I can take Sherlock for ten hours.”

**  
**Mycroft smiled reptilian-like. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again thanks to my darling Devisama/cakeofficialmycroft for the beta on this one. check her out here>> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devisama and http://cakeofficialmycroft.tumblr.com/ also, if you guys notice anything wrong with the britpicking then please let me know. thanks so much!
> 
> li'l reminder: THERE WILL BE A CYCLE. Engaged "for a case" (jesus i need a title change), Sleepover, A Knock At The Door. i will rotate updating chapters. this cycle has nothing to do with Devisama's and my fic(s) nor to do with my headcanons. i will not have a specific day that i update them, and there will be an announcement on my tumblr, dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.
> 
> fic recs/ comments/ requests for headcanons/ questions/ suggestions = comment below or shoot me a message at http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/!


	5. Chapter 5

John took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. He was 15 minutes early, more than enough time to get information on basic rules. Mycroft’s words reverberated through his head- “we’ll see,” he had said with that horribly creepy smile. Was that a warning? A threat? _‘Stop freaking out. Sherlock can’t be as bad as Mycroft says he is. It’s just brotherly rivalry,’_ John thought to himself.

 

A ragged Mycroft answered the door. “John, please come in,” he motioned. John followed him past the huge entrance hall through the kitchen. “Sherlock’s up in his room. He doesn’t have any allergies, but he’s unlikely to eat anything you put in front of him. You needn’t worry about that, we have a chef for a reason,” Mycroft said as they passed the living room. He ran a hand through his ginger hair and over his face. “He’ll probably be busy with his pestilential experiments all day,” he grimaced, fatigue showing through every motion. He sighed, then continued in the same tired tone as before. “If you need to entertain him there are movies in the den, books in the library, gardens outside- well. I’ll doubt he’ll be interested. He’ll want to do whatever you want to do,” Mycroft sighed, stopping outside an ebony door. “He’s right in here. I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He turned his back and made as if to go down the hallway, but then stopped and turned towards John again. “Be careful of…” He gestured at the door. “That.” He then turned and limped down the hallway, sighs and half muttered curses fading away.

 

John blinked after him. “...Right.” He sighed and knocked on the door. “Sherlock?”

 

Crash.

 

Pause.

 

“...John?”

 

John furrowed his brow. “Um, yeah. Everything all right in there?” Sherlock threw open the door. His face was flushed pure red, his dark locks were thoroughly dishevelled,  and suspicious stains covered his shirt. He also had a paint splattered pair of goggles pushing back the mess of raven curls.

 

“John. Hi.” Sherlock's voice squeaked slightly at Johns name.

 

John blinked in surprise. “Hey.” He peered behind the small boy and noticed a plethora of science equipment. “...Whatcha doin’ in there?”

 

“I- um- experiments.”

 

John grinned down at Sherlock. “Can I see?”

 

Sherlock’s blush deepened, if that was possible, and he scrambled out of the way to make room for the older boy as he stepped into the room.

 

John entered the room and immediately notices quite a few things. A sturdy oak table had been shoved against the left wall, covered in various scientific tools- scattered (and clean) pipettes, a vast array of graduated cylinders, a bubbling Erlenmeyer flask sitting on top of a hot plate, and something that looked suspiciously like the remnants of a stuffed toy. John also observed an unmade bed and a bookcase that looked like it was going to topple over because of the sheer amount of books on it. Redbeard was huddled at the end of the bed, and starts thumping his tail with excitement when John glanced over at him.

 

John looked down at Sherlock, grinning. “This is really cool.”

 

Sherlock beamed back up at John, saying, “isn’t it though? I was testing the effects of different acidic substances on cotton earlier. Look-”

 

And so Sherlock showed the older boy. He was captivated by the extensive experiments on everything from the luminescence of homemade glow sticks versus store bought ones to how long fingerprints stay on different substances. However, John was more entranced by the raven haired boy who was explaining all these technical experiments to him. John was at least five years Sherlock’s senior, and yet Sherlock was much smarter and much more mature than John. John sighed. It wasn’t as if he always expected himself to be the smartest one in the room- he was quite average and he knew it. It’s just that it was quite humbling to be in a house where you knew you were definitely the least intelligent one there. Even less intelligent than the youngest of the family. Who was still in primary school.

 

“John,” Sherlock began, pausing his monologue about the properties of human fingernails.

 

“Hm? Yeah?”

 

“Stop thinking so loudly. You're normal, even above average, for your age. Plus, I had the distinct advantage of a demanding family and a lonely childhood.” Sherlock half-smiled up at John, who looked back down at Sherlock with bewilderment.

 

John shook his head and gave a curious smile, asking, “how do you do that?”

 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know that you’re easy to read. You’re thinking that since you’re less intelligent than my family and I, you’re worth less. Nothing could be farther from the truth,” Sherlock declared with a flourish and a slight blush.

 

A genuinely pleased smile spread across on John's face and seemed to light up the whole room. “Thank you, Sherlock. It does make me feel a bit better knowing that you think that,” he said with honesty.

 

Sherlock’s blush deepened and a shy expression took over his face. He looked down at his feet and cleared his throat. After a awkward pause, he asked, “so, ah, lunch?”

 

“Starving.”

 

~~~~~

 

When Mycroft got home at 8 o’clock sharp, he found John and Sherlock battling. Sherlock was using his wooden sword and John was using a bunch of toilet tissue tubes duct-taped together. Redbeard was supervising from the couch.

 

“I will best you, Captain Holmes!” John cried, swinging his makeshift sword.

 

“Never! I will be the Pirate King soon enough!” Sherlock replied, dodging John's strike and poking John’s stomach.

 

“Agh, oooh, you’ve got me!” John exclaimed, dramatically falling to his knees and clutching his stomach, failing to smother a smile. John then let out a fake groan, closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

 

Sherlock put a triumphant foot on John’s crumpled form. “Now I am Pirate King, terror of the seas!” Redbeard barked and thumped his tail against the cushions.

 

“Oh Lord,” Mycroft sighed.

 

John opened his eyes and grinned. “Hey, Mycroft!”

 

Sherlock immediately stiffened and quickly removed his foot. “How was your night out with Gregory? I’m sure he thought you were vile,” Sherlock sniffed.

 

“It was perfectly divine, thank you for asking,” Mycroft smiled back. “And I’m sure that John is eager to return home so he could text his girlfriend uninterrupted.” Without waiting for a response from a suddenly red and homicidal-looking Sherlock, he turned to John and handed over sixty-five pounds. “Five pounds extra because I’m sure Sherlock was horrid,” Mycroft said with a smirk over at his younger brother.

 

John furrowed his brow. “Oh, no, I can't. Sixty is already far too much and Sherlock was no bother at all. It really was quite an enjoyable evening.” John shuffled his feet. “And, actually, ahm, she’s not my girlfriend just yet, so...”

 

Mycroft waved his hand. “Close enough. Especially for you, Sherlock, hmm?” he smirked, inclining his head towards Sherlock, who was clenching his fists and glaring up at his older brother so intensely that John would have worried for Mycroft’s safety if he didn’t know better. After all, the Holmes brothers didn’t deal in things so common as violence. No, they dealt in nasty barbs meant to hurt for hours after. _‘Though how having a girlfriend would affect Sherlock is beyond me,’_ John thought.

 

John cleared his throat. “I, um, I think I should be going.”

 

Mycroft smiled that reptilian grin of his once again and said, “oh, yes, of course. Sherlock, will you please accompany him out?”

 

“But of course, brother dear,” Sherlock snarled. Mycroft’s lip twitched and Sherlock allowed himself a small victorious smile. “John?” he called, head up, almost sashaying out of the library.

 

“...er...Right,” John stammered, and followed Sherlock out. Mycroft trailed quite a few meters behind them but remained close enough to remind John that he was there, watching. _‘I suppose that is the impression he wants to make,’_ John thought.

 

When they got to the front door, Sherlock opened it and then shyly glanced down at his feet. “Um, thank you for coming over, and it was really fun, and maybe you could do it again sometime if you'd like, and thank you again, ‘bye,” Sherlock mumbled.

 

John laughed. “Yeah, sure thing!” He went to exit through the door, but was then intercepted by a vicious hug from Sherlock. A surprised glance down at the raven haired boy showed that his ears were bright red, visible even though his face was hidden in John’s jumper.

 

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered. John smiled and ruffled his tangled curls. He then gave a jaunty wave and left the Holmes residence.

 

As soon as the door swung closed, Mycroft spoke from his place leaning against the wall halfway down the corridor. “Hugging? A bit forward for the first date, isn’t it?”

 

“Says the boy who ended up snogging in the movie theatre,” Sherlock retorted.

 

Mycroft turned red, then composed himself and watched Sherlock pass him. “He’s going out with Mary Morstan.”

 

Sherlock stiffened. “Shut up, Mycroft,” he snarled quietly. “You spoil everything.” Sherlock continued walking up to his room, though it had changed into a furious march.

 

After slamming his door closed, Sherlock sat down on his bed and rested his head against Redbeard, who had quickly followed him up. The boy then entered his mind palace and went to what looked like a small storage cupboard on the outside.

 

Sherlock had designed this space to appear like this for two reasons.

 

First, because John was Sherlock’s secret. Mycroft’s maxim of “caring is not an advantage” was burned into Sherlock’s brain, constantly reminding him that John was as much of a secret as teenage boys’ search history was. Nevertheless, the amount he cared for John Watson...

 

Second, the appearance was similar to John himself. Unassuming from the outside, but on the inside it was warm, bright and filled with happy memories that more often than not brought a blush to Sherlock’s face.

 

The room inside was not typical and as small as most storage cupboards are; the room inside was, in fact, flexible in size. It had floor to ceiling windows with window seats looking out to a sunny rugby field. But that was not the focus of the room. In the centre of the room, there was a large table with a scrapbook twice as large as Sherlock’s head. Sherlock stuck the memories of their day together in an empty page. Sherlock then sat at one of the window seats and watched the dust float through the rosy room. He soon quickly fell asleep to memories of John’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im beginning to realise that i'm shifting towards john's view a bit more than sherlock's. oh well. it's cute. and plus!!!! theres a mind palace!!! ohoho i love his mind palace~
> 
> thanks ever so much to my dear myc for the beta of this chapter, check her out @cakeofficialmycroft on tumblr and @devisama on ao3!
> 
> as always, @dr-john-im-not-gay-watson on tumblr for headcanons, questions, the like; or comment below!


End file.
